


Dream Catcher

by yuletide_archivist



Category: Dark Is Rising Sequence - Susan Cooper
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2004-12-22
Updated: 2004-12-22
Packaged: 2018-01-25 04:24:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,113
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1631354
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yuletide_archivist/pseuds/yuletide_archivist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Every night Bran dreams, and only Will understands.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dream Catcher

**Author's Note:**

> Written for templemarker

 

 

'I had the dream again last night.'

The same words Will has woken up to nearly every morning for the past few years. Always with the same plaintive tone; longing, questioning. Bran seems to comprehend that Will knows the meaning of the Dream. Bran can tell Will is different. Bran is too close to Will to _not_ sense that there is something...unique about Will.

Barely awake and hardly conscious of all else in the world, Will knows that it is coming. 'Tell me', he says, just as he does every morning. Their morning ritual. The day would seem unstarted without it.

`I'm in a room, it's big; cavernous and empty. The light is strange; perhaps that is what makes the room seem so vacant. It's a dim light and I can't see where it's coming from. I'm not sure how long I wait until it becomes apparent to me that it is sunlight, dim streaks of sunlight lining the ground. The light is gloomy and it seems as though none of my senses are sharp anymore. But I don't feel like it's the odd light that is making the room unhappy; there is some other force permeating the very being of the place, a force which makes the room forlorn. There is a table, and a few chairs, but other than that I feel horribly alone. You're there too, though Will, and I feel your presence in my mind in an odd way.'

Will doesn't speak. He knows every word before it even leaves Bran's mouth. Bran takes a deep shuddering breath. This is the most painful part of the dream, Will knows.

`There's something, I need it. You need it. There are other people too--we need it, I know...it was a long and dangerous journey to get here, and I need to get it. Only I can do it, I know that, and I know why in the dream too, but I can't remember it now I'm awake...If I don't get it, something horrible will happen, I can feel it. I need to say something. It's in my mind, I know it is, But I can't remember. It's a poem, or a song. I know that it's written on the wall, it's there, written in gold, shining. I can see the letters, but I can't read the words, it's like I don't know how to read...my time is slipping away...then there's a terrible cold voice, and all I can see is black...until I see ...it's a man on a horse, a black horse, like his cloak...I can't see his face...he laughs and says, "Pendragon cannot get the sword! The silver on the tree shall go to the Dark, and the Dark shall rise! The Light will be crushed and the Dark shall rise!"'

The room is brighter now; watery sun is pouring through the curtains on the window. Bran has not moved since he awoke; he lies on his back, staring at the ceiling, tawny eyes unseeing. Will reaches a hand over, smoothes a strand of hair away from Bran's forehead. He murmurs familiar comforting words into a pale ear. The words mean nothing; Will knows this. He understands Bran's dream, he feels Bran's pain. His desire to tell Bran of his past is overwhelming. A permanent knot is tied around his heart, tightening each morning as he wakes up to Bran's dream.

Will sometimes wonders if in some area of Bran's mind, the memory is there; more than just the dreaming part, but a more conscious part as well. Will is never sure what to think of this, regardless of whether it exists or not. He hates it for being there, for forcing Bran to live in constant pain, for twisting memories, and teasing with half-knowledge. Broken knowledge that eats Bran from the inside, never allowing him to feel truly whole and calm. Yet sometimes Will thanks it. He thanks it for allowing Bran to still hold on to bits of this past. Will, knowing how much pain the dreams cause Bran, hates himself for thinking like this. He is lonely, now that he is the last Old One left, and hearing Bran tell of his dream helps alleviate the loneliness. Will knows he shouldn't think that way, putting his own pain ahead of Bran's. He thinks Merriman should have known when he took away the memories of Bran and the Drew children, that Bran, being Pendragon, could hold the knowledge somewhere in the back of his mind.

Will sighs, attempting to expel both their pain in a single breath. He sets a kiss on Bran's forehead, his eye lid, his chin. He continues until Bran responds, fingers threading through Will's hair.

This day Bran's response comes promptly. Some days, he responds immediately, others, far longer. There are days when Will fears a reaction will never come. Days that he fears his kisses and touches will fail to affect Bran, days that he fears Bran will cease to desire to be saved from his dream.

But not this day.

Comfort turns to need as kisses spread from face over neck, shoulder, chest. Hands wander familiar territory as minds turn away from night terrors toward bliss of day. Will strokes a hand up Bran's inner thigh, marvelling at how dark his own skin seems against Bran's.

Soon all other thoughts escape their minds as small sighs and moans do from their mouths.

Lips, hair, fingers.

Tongues, nails, eyes.

Breath.

Their bodies move in familiar patterns

Touching,

Whispering,

until--

_oh_

`Bran--`

yes

`more...'

_There_

`Will--`

`Bran--`

_yes_

They collapse back on the bed, back to earth, breath coming hard. Bran turns to look at Will. `Thank you,' he says simply, and Will knows.

As Bran leaves the bed to begin the day, Will watches, wondering how much longer Bran will tell Will his dream before Will breaks and tells him what he has wished to for so long:

_I had a dream too, Bran. I dreamed you remembered the words:_

I am the womb of every holt,  
I am the blaze on every hill,  
I am the queen of every hive,  
I am the shield for every head,  
I am the tomb of every hope--  
I am Eirias!

_And the King of the Lost Land gave the sword to the Light. You did it Bran, and the Dark was vanquished. And then...you chose to stay with me. You sacrificed life with the father you had never known, for the loving bonds that you had forged._

And then Merriman made you forget. And all you have left are these dreams that slowly destroy you.

 


End file.
